Okay sooooooooo. I had been reading this blog. As a trans gurl I keep dressing up in gym costumes. Pants and sports bra for win. But then seeing other girls with badonkers I start feeling soooo jealous... I start crawling the walls and exercise harder just not to think about the cushions. I want their problems. So much.
It's good that you're channelling your envy into working out more! You're going to need all the strength you can get to keep yourself upright, after all.
Just picture it. You're at the gym, as usual. You're looking good in your outfit, rocking a sports bra and a pair of leggings. The rowing machine seems like a good place to start, so you settle into the bench, squirming your hips a little to get into a good position. And then, as you reach out for the grip, you see... her. You don't know her name, but you recognize her easily. It's not the neon pink of her tight, athletic leggings that stand out most, nor is it the way her skin seems to shine even before starting her workout. It's not even the camera she has already set up to take her thirst traps. The most obvious thing—or, rather, things—about her are her huge, bra-stretching tits. They're colossal, like nothing you've ever seen, even late at night on your computer.
So, you do what you always do and throw yourself into your exercise. You turn straight ahead and try to imagine blinders on yourself, blocking out anything that might distract you. It works for a few moments as you get into the repetitive rowing motion, but it doesn't last for long. Tits that big are just so hard to ignore. You push yourself a little harder. You're still thinking about her huge tits and imagining how she'd squeeze them for her followers. Adrenaline surges through you, but you grit your teeth. Your heart is pounding in your chest and your arms are already tingling. The machine groans under the strain of your work out, pulling on the bar as hard as you can. Deep breaths make your chest heave and sweat trickles down your face, beads rolling over your skin. You're pulling and pulling and pulling, as hard and as fast as you can, seemingly under the impression that, if you pass out, then you won't be able to think of anything at all, including that tight gym bunny and her envy-inducing tits. Just when you feel like your body is about to give out and your heart is about to leap from your chest, something... squishes.
As you pull the bar to your chest, something blocks your way. You try again, only to be met with the same softness. Slowly, you turn your gaze downward and your eyes go wide. Your breasts are growing. They're already huge, much bigger than when you sat down. Gasping only makes the problem worse as it forces them to bulge out around your sports bra even more. Even after you let go of the bar, letting it retract into the machine, your breasts still grow. They push outward against your sports bra, stretching it, straining it, finding any open space they can to bulge out of it. The creaking of the seams is the only warning you get. As quickly as you can, you leap up from the machine and race towards the locker room, staggering as you go.
Before you know it, you're in the shower, barely able to breathe, the sports bra too tight over your growing tits. You brace yourself and, a moment later, the elastic pops and the sound of ripping fabric echoes off the tiled walls. Your breasts, enormous and heavy, flop free. They absolutely dominate your torso and, as you try to lift one of them, their sensitivity nearly knocks your knees out from under you. Between the high from exercising and the pleasure coursing through you, your mind is a little hazy and you let out a giggle, biting your lip as you grope yourself. In a way, it did work. After all that exercise, you finally found a way to ignore that girl. Now the next question is: will she be able to ignore you?
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